Ñoldóran
by Elenluin
Summary: In the aftermath of Dagor Bragollach Fingon meets Maedhros and Maglor. Perhaps he could use their advice, perhaps they could use his. What is certain is that nothing will be the same ever again now that he holds the kingship. At this turning point in his life, he needs to come to terms with his grief and take some necessary decisions, for himself as well as for Ereinion.
1. 1- The arrival

Fingon stood in his hall, motionless. He stared at the heavy wooden doors in front of him and waited until they would open. There was a restless shuffling of feet behind him, his guards felt the tension too. He understood their disquiet, his guests had a certain reputation. But he knew them better than most, even if it had been many years of the sun since he had last had a chance to speak to them in person, and he liked to think that he had nothing to fear from them. Still he could not quiet his own unease.

It was not that he did not want to see them, quite the contrary. It had been a long time now that he had been looking for an opportunity to speak to them both. He was at a point that he would have taken any chance to visit his friends. However there always was a reason not to leave this castle, and they had hardly been able to leave their own posts. They had all been stuck, guarding the borders, the passes, the mountains. For years they had tried to keep the peace. But now all was different.

He had been looking forward to their coming for a long time, but now he no longer did. What should have been a joyous occasion, might now herald difficulties and strife. Sorrowful events had made his cousins leave their lands, sorrowful events had made him invite them, and it looked like things would not improve soon.

A tug at his tunic woke him from his thoughts. Ereinion was looking up at him with those questioning silver eyes of him. He must have slipped away from his governess once again. Fingon forced a smile on his face and swept his boy off his feet. "Hey, what are you doing here? Did you come to see me?"

He did not get a reply and rested his forehead against the child's. "Is there anything amiss?"

"No father." Ereinion said, his little arms closing around his neck, "But you looked so sad."

Fingon inwardly cursed himself for his lack of self-control. "It is nothing little one, do not worry. Sometimes I miss grandpa Fin'fin a little."

"So do I." The fierce hug of the child did nothing to appease his mind, but he had to comfort his boy, so he started rubbing circles on his small back.

At the thud of the opening of the doors, he carefully put his son back on the ground. He did not bother to send him away; his guests were family after all.

When Maedhros marched through the door, Fingon looked at him with apprehension. His cousin's expression was unreadable to most, but he knew him far too well. The tension in his shoulders, the clenched fist and the fire that shone in his eyes did not bode well and he started to doubt his decision to keep Ereinion around. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Penneth, go back to your room. I will call for you later, I promise."

Ereinion hesitated for a moment and glanced at the visitors, before he nodded and darted off. Fingon did not see where he went, he did not dare avert his eyes from his cousin. There were many possibilities on how this encounter could turn out, and he had gone over each and every one of them a thousand times the days before. He had tried to convince himself that all would be fine in the end, but now that he saw Maedhros' haunted look, he started to doubt if that truly would be the case.

"He has grown, Fingon." The sound of his cousin's voice made his heart jump. How he had missed him.

"He has." Fingon hesitated for a moment, Ereinion was a far too sensitive topic to discuss in public. Quickly he decided to stick to formalities. "Be welcome here, cousins. How was your journey?" The tension between them nearly made the air crackle. The fact that Maedhros had not properly greeted him yet, made him wonder what opposition he would face from the one that once bore the crown he now carried on his head.

Maedhros bowed his head and seemed to take a deep breath, but before he could answer, Maglor interfered. He had been hiding in the shadows, but now stepped forward and squeezed Maedhros' shoulder.

Then he knelt.

Fingon gasped as the bard's clear voice rang through the hall.

"We promise on our faith that we will in the future be faithful to Fingon, High king, as we were to his father before him, to never cause him harm and will observe our homage to him against all persons in good faith and without deceit. This we, Maedhros and Maglor Feanorion, promise in name of our people, our brothers and their vassals." *

A flicker of emotions crossed Maedhros' face as he sunk down on his knee next to his brother, followed by their entire retinue. "We promise." He repeated in his hoarse voice.

Fingon was taken aback, he could not shake off the feeling that Maedhros had not planned this. It took him a moment to find his voice again. "I, Fingon, son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, make known to those present and to come that I accept this pledge of fealty, made by Maedhros and Maglor Feanorion in name of their peoples, brothers and vassals." He took a deep breath, "Now rise cousins."

As Maedhros got back on his feet, Fingon quickly closed the distance between them and fiercely embraced him. "You did not have to do this, but thank you…" Maedhros wordlessly nodded as he let go and Fingon moved to Maglor, embracing him too, "I think you took your brother by surprise, but I assume you had your reasons."

Maglor smiled and Fingon thought he had never seen him so weary as in that moment. "I had. We might have to discuss them later, my King. Now let us shed the dust from our travels, for my brother longs to talk to you, but let's make sure he is bathed and fed before you engage in those debates. I've all too often found that once the two of you start, there is no stopping you anymore."

Fingon grinned at that, half expecting Maedhros to sharply retort. However, the eldest merely threw Maglor a concerned glance, and Fingon wondered what was going on between the brothers.

With a flick of his hand, he called one of the servants nearer. "Show the lords Maedhros and Maglor their rooms, and make sure their men are cared for as well."

"Yes, Aranya." Fingon could not help flinching, he still did every time they addressed him thus.

"Take your time to refresh, I will have some food brought to my study, and I will be waiting for you there whenever you are ready."

The brothers nodded and followed the servant, while others guided the soldiers to their quarters. Fingon remained motionless for a long time, until the movement of a heavy curtain caught his eye. "You can come out now, Ereinion."

The boy appeared from behind the dark blue fabric and Fingon laughed at the guilty expression on his son's face.

"I should have realised that you would not be so easily dismissed. Come here!"

Staring at his feet, Ereinion shuffled nearer. When he came within his reach, Fingon put his hands on his son's little shoulders and knelt before him. "Do you understand what just happened?"

"Yes father, uncle Maedhros and uncle Maglor swore fealty to you."

"They did. Do you also know why this was important?"

The boy nodded, but did not speak. His little face was solemn as ever and Fingon cringed. Ereinion was far too serious for his age.

When he himself had been twelve, he had wandered through the streets of Tirion with Caranthir and Aegnor, forging mischief and climbing trees. Here his son was not even allowed to go beyond the castle walls. Ereinion spent his days studying and reading or practising his fighting skills in the carefully guarded courtyard. It was a harsh life for a child.

He had dwelled many times on how lonely it must be for the boy to grow up here at Barad Eithel, without a mother to care for him and no room for play. But when considering the options, he had always felt that it would be far crueller to separate the boy from his family. And somehow between his father and himself, they had managed to protect Ereinion from the worst, and he thought they had succeeded in making him as happy as a child could be in these dire times. However, all had changed now. Perhaps he would be able to grant his son a few years of carefree childhood, but it would come at a cost, as did all important things in life.

He did not scoff Ereinion for not obeying. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, and teach him all he knew while he still could; now was not the time to argue.

"Do you want to join us tonight? You may if you want to. Uncle Maedhros and I have many things to discuss, if you want, you can listen."

"I would like that, father."

"Very well then. Go change your clothing, Ereinion. I will see you in my study. Bring your harp, you can show me how you have progressed these last weeks, and perhaps – if you are lucky – uncle Maglor might give you some advice."

The boy nodded and disappeared again, and Fingon walked back to his study. The door softly closed behind him and he paused a moment in front of his library. He breathed the scent of old paper and let his hand dwell over the cracked spines, but his eyes did not truly register the volumes in front of him. It took him all his strength to push back the wave of despair that washed over him. He kept on repeating to himself that all would be well, that his cousins were here now and they had not even hesitated to swear their allegiance, against all expectations. He sank down behind his desk, idly staring at the letters in front of him. The unease at the back of his mind remained. The world was changing.

* * *

* _the pledge of fealty is a free interpretation from a 12th century pledge to the count of Flanders_


	2. 2- Meeting

A soft knock sounded through the study. The servants had already come to bring the food and light the candles and his son was reading a book on the rug before the hearth, so it had to be his guests. Besides, he would recognise those footsteps anywhere.

"Come in."

Maglor entered alone and closed the door behind him. Fingon's confusion must have shown, for the bard chuckled. "Do not fret, he will come in a minute." But immediately he turned serious again, "He needed the heat of the bath to ease his pain. The long journey here has wearied him."

Fingon nodded. It was only one of the reasons why their meetings had been rare throughout the years, but one of the more important ones. Maedhros suffered when he had to travel through the cold. And in Hithlum the warm season was even shorter than in Himring. The nights always remained freezing cold here. "I hope he will find some respite. I tried to give him a well heated room"

"I had already noticed that the kitchen chimney was close. Thank you for that."

He shook his head, "It is nothing. I had not forgotten."

"Of course you had not." Maglor paused and stepped closer to the hearth, observing Ereinion for a few long moments before he knelt next to him. "Hello, penneth. What are you reading there?"

When the boy looked up, Fingon felt a stab through his heart. It was as if he looked into his father's face once again. While his own eyes were nearly blue, Ereinion's were as clear grey as a shining star. He turned away from the scene before him and drifted back to his books, struggling to keep his composure. A small cough alerted him of another presence, one that he had not noticed. Apparently his cousin could still move as silently as he had when they were hunting deer in the woods near Tirion.

"I know I've written as much in my last letter, but my condolences with the loss of your father."

He nodded, but did not avert his eyes from his books until Maedhros put a strong hand on his shoulder and turned him around. His cousin leant his forehead against his own and Fingon saw his own weariness reflected. But he also saw compassion, and perhaps even grief. There might have been strife between their fathers for many years, but he knew Fingolfin had loved Maedhros, and Maedhros had loved Fingolfin.

He wanted to laugh when the similarity to how he had comforted Ereinion earlier that day struck him, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

He had been a fool to hope that his sadness would be dismissed after a single hug of a friend.

He closed his eyes. "They say the eagle carried him to Turgon's hidden keep. Why the beast carried him there I do not know, but it left me without the opportunity to say goodbye. On some days, on the bad ones, I start to doubt if he is dead at all. I do not even have a grave to go to, Maedhros."

"Neither do I. Still I am sure you know he is, you feel it, as we who knew him well all do. At least you can be sure that your father will be well-received by Mandos. He will be honoured there as he was here." Maedhros withdrew a little and his hand fell of his shoulder.

Fingon blinked away his tears, suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry my friend, I shouldn't have said that. I know how worried you are about your own father."

Maedhros shook his head. "We knew this would be our fate from the moment we decided to leave. There is nothing to be sorry for."

Silence fell between them. Fingon glanced at Ereinion to see if the boy had seen his moment of weakness. He would rather not burden him any further. Thankfully, Maglor seemed to have engaged his son in a conversation on the treaty that he was reading.

"I need a drink." Maedhros' raspy voice woke him from his thoughts once again.

"Of course, you must be weary and hungry after your travels."

Together they walked over to the side table where the servants had left the food and wine. He saw Maedhros wince as they approached the refreshments, and it took him a few moments to realise that it wasn't what his cousin had seen, but rather what he had heard that had caused his reaction.

Maglor's melodious voice answered the question that he had missed. "Yes, Ereinion, they breached the gap, however we managed to defeat them at that time. Let me show you."

Fingon turned around and saw how he carefully took a paperweight and a few feathers from his desk.

"My cavalry troops were here and here, and here was uncle Caranthir with his men."

Fingon glanced back at Maedhros and raised an eyebrow.

"Dagor Aglareb." Maedhros said, so softly that he could hardly hear him.

He cringed too, "I was not aware that Ereinion's tutor had asked him to study that battle this week. I am sorry Maedhros, I should have told him not to bring it. Tonight we should not talk about war and strategy. Tomorrow we might have to, but tonight we should not."

Maedhros hesitated. "You are right. Maglor has had a hard time lately. He is sad. Sad and angry. More so than I've ever seen him." Another brief pause fell. Then Maedhros looked him in straight in the eyes. "As are you. You are not yourself, Fingon. It is nothing like you to be so quiet."

"Sad, yes. Angry, perhaps. But if I am, it is only because I do not understand. Why, Maedhros? Why did he do it? Why did he go all alone, and leave me with this mess. I would have gone with him. I would even have gone in his place, but no, he left me here and now I have to rule. You of all people know what an awful politician I am." He passionately whispered, but his temper extinguished as quickly as it lightened. He did not have the energy anymore to argue.

"You will be a good king Fingon." Maedhros put his hand on his arm again. "We don't need a politician now. We need a soldier, a general, a war-leader, someone who can inspire our people to continue. And you know you are all those things and much more. You can do this. As for your father's deeds, I do not think it is difficult to see the why. Why did you face the same danger to come for me, all those years ago?"

"That was different! I had lost a friend!"

"Listen to yourself Fingon. He has lost as much as all of us, and perhaps even more. For all of us despair is there, lurking around the corner. At times we succeed in ignoring it, but sometimes it washes over us and we cannot resist its call." Maedhros' eyes became unfocussed and Fingon knew he was not only thinking of Fingolfin. "But we have to keep trying."

He laid his own hand on top of his cousin's. "Perhaps. He has never been the same after the news of Aredhel came…." He bit back his tears again. The topic of his sister was one best avoided. He took a deep breath. "You know, I think what he missed most was someone to talk to. Perhaps had Turgon been here, things would have been different. He was always the wisest and the most gifted tactician. Remember how Turgon, father and you spent entire evenings discussing grandfather's decisions in Tirion? You would never stop. But he had to do with me, his impetuous, reckless son, who never mastered enough patience for the debates. It should have been Turgon, Maedhros. " He blurted it out. "He should have been next, not me. I was never enough." He bit his lip as soon as the words spilled out, angry with himself for speaking his mind. He had been able to keep his temper for so many months, but now that Maedhros was here, everything came out un-asked for. What would his cousin think of him?

Maedhros didn't reply, his regard fixed on his own brother who was moving the would-be armies around, patiently explaining the detailed troop movements to Ereinion. The boy watched it all with interest, and Fingon knew he would have to answer many a question in the following days on the finer points of their tactics.

He took a deep breath to regain control and decided to direct the attention elsewhere. "Ereinion, it's almost time for bed. If you want uncle Maglor to hear your accomplishments on the harp, now is the time."

"But Atar? Can't I stay here a little longer? We've only just begun?"

Maglor smiled and swept the pieces together with one broad gesture.

It struck Fingon that he avoided the use of his right arm and he started to pay closer attention. There was a tension in Maglor's stance. The horseman that had always moved with the grace of a dancer now seemed to hesitate sometimes. Still he could not put his finger on what was wrong. He berated himself in silence. He had been so self-absorbed, he should have realised that his cousins had suffered too, but now was not the time to ask. Later, there would be time for that later. He looked at his son. "No, penneth. It is time. Do you want to play? Or will you do so tomorrow?"

"I did not bring my harp, Atar. I forgot." The boy sheepishly said and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Children._

"Ereinion, why don't we go to you room together? You can show me there, and I can tuck you in if you want to." Maglor interrupted, to Fingon's surprise.

"I would like that very much, uncle! Can I, Atar?" The pleading look on Ereinion's face made Fingon smile too.

"You can. Thank you Maglor, if he becomes a nuisance, send word to me and I'll come to teach the little rogue some discipline."

Ereinion grinned as he disappeared, holding Maglor's hand and Fingon thought he had at least achieved something tonight. He did not often see his son laugh, it brightened his day too.

He mouthed a heartfelt "Thank you" in the direction of Maglor as he closed the door. The bard hardly ever failed to notice whenever Maedhros and he wanted to talk. A thoughtfulness for which he was more than grateful.

He sank down in one of the comfortable chairs, his long legs stretched before him and gestured to Maedhros to do the same, but his cousin ignored him and walked over to the window.

"I wish I had never had to put the burden on your father's shoulders. I too wish it did not have to pass to you. But you were, you are enough, Fingon, never doubt that. It is not that simple. It never is."

* * *

 _Lydwina Marie - thanks for your review! glad to see you liked it!_

 _note: I deliberately choose to portray Ereinion as Fingon's son despite all other possibilities. for me this still remains the best fit based on the little we know of character and appearance._


	3. 3- You are enough

Fingon laid his head against the backrest of the sofa and closed his eyes. "If you say so."

"I do." Maedhros leant against the window frame. "Fingon, we need to talk."

"Indeed." He opened his eyes again. "But can we keep the politics until tomorrow? I am far too glad that you are both here. First tell me how you have fared. What has happened there? From your letters, I could barely figure out how you managed to defend Himring, and Maglor did not even answer my questions on the Gap."

"What did he write then? The two of you have never exchanged so many letters as in the last few months?"

Fingon stared at the window. "I've asked his advice on what to do with Ereinion. I need to take some decisions."

A sad smile appeared on Maedhros' face. "You do realise whom you are asking for advice? There has been little understanding for his own choice."

"I know that. But despite everything, he still seems convinced that to leave his son with his mother in Valinor was the right thing to do."

"I know he is…" Maedhros still stared out of the window, avoiding to catch his regard. "But has Maglor told you as well how much it cost him to make that decision? You knew Maglor before. He was different then. Every time when I see Curufin with Celebrimbor, I must admit I doubt on who made the wisest choice. Think about that as well before you decide."

"Haven't we all changed through the years, Maedhros? Was it truly only leaving his child behind that made Maglor who he is today? But I hear you. I will not make a rash choice." Fingon hesitated a moment, "Something has to be done though. This is no place for a child. He needs to play with other children his age, instead of being surrounded by grim soldiers. I am thinking of sending him to Cirdan when spring comes. At the Falas he should be safe from all the strife – and perhaps in a few years I will be able to go there to visit him."

"Does he know?"

Fingon shook his head, "No, I did not find a way to breach the topic yet. " He sighed, "But enough about me. What about you? Are all your brothers safe? I heard Curufin and Celegorm made it out of the pass?"

"I heard the same. I have not seen them since. Word has it that they fled to Nargothrond. Maglor says he hopes Finrod kicks them out sooner rather than later, but I am pretty sure that he won't, even if they are bound to test his patience. Our cousin is simply incapable of fathoming how much trouble those two can cause."

"They haven't made a lot of friends lately, have they?" Fingon muttered.

"No they have not." Maedhros laughed bitterly and finally went to sit in the chair. He leant his head between his hands. "It is the least you can say. I just hope that they will behave themselves in Finrod's kingdom."

"You are not responsible for them, you know. They have been adults for a while now."

Maedhros looked up, "Sometimes, you sound just like Maglor. At least Caranthir is out of trouble. He went to Amon Ereb, to Amrod."

"A pity that he did not choose to come to you. He might not be the easiest to live with, but he is the best military engineer we have."

"Amrod can use him better than I. There is little to be improved in Himring. The fact that we were able to withstand the attacks of the dragon proved as much."

"Tell me about the dragon."

Maedhros' look shifted away from him. "Not tonight, Fingon."

He was surprised to hear his cousin's voice quaver. He had thought that there was nothing that frightened Maedhros anymore. Not after what he had gone through. Apparently he had been wrong.

"Then tell me about Maglor. What has happened in the gap?"

"You ask the same question once again. Ask my brother if you must, but not tonight."

Fingon stared at his own hands. It must have been worse than he had thought. "Is that why Maglor has stayed with you? He always hated it when he had to stay in a keep for longer than a few days."

"He still does. He has not changed that much. There is just no other place for him to go to."

Maedhros looked sad, and Fingon was concerned by the despair that sounded through his words. "Surely he could go to the plains in the south? I assume he has lost many of his horses, but could he not rebuild his cavalry there?"

"Less than thirty of his riders escaped to Himring."

Fingon opened and closed his mouth, lost for words. Then he sighed. "Why did he not tell me? He never said a word about what happened there. Why did you not tell me?"

Maedhros was about to reply when a soft click of the door announced the bard's return.

"The little one is sound asleep. He has practiced well. Clearly he has inherited his father's talent for the harp."

Fingon bowed his head to hide his confusion and gestured to the food and drinks. "Help yourself, you must be starved."

"No," Maglor softly answered. "I'll take a cup of wine to my room. Your time together is already so rare, you don't need me here. I'd just be an intruder."

"Maglor…." Maedhros said in a pained voice. "You are not a nuisance. Please join us."

The bard smiled. "Don't worry about me. I had a very nice evening already. I am weary and I don't mind to be alone for a while. I have some ideas to refine the lyrics of that song that I wrote a few months ago. You know how they have been bothering me."

Maedhros gave in all too easily. "I'll see you in the morning then."

Maglor nodded, taking one of the simple stone cups from the table, before he left again. As the door fell shut behind him, Maedhros hid his head in his hands. He looked so desperate that Fingon moved over to him and put his arm around his cousin's shoulder, hugging him tight. "What happened? You know you can tell me."

For a long time, there was no answer. Fingon patiently waited. Eventually Maedhros would tell him, of that he was sure. All he could do in the meantime was to hold his cousin tight, silently letting him know that he was not alone.

Maedhros leant his head against his shoulder, hiding behind his long hair. "I thought I had lost him too. If I had not sent my own guard to chase away his pursuers, he would not have made it to the keep. And all I could do was to watch the scene unfurl in front of me, while I was standing on the high parapets of Himring. He was barely alive when they brought him in and there was nothing I could do. How my hands itched to go after those orcs myself, but right behind him, the dragon came and my advisors convinced me that it would be a bad idea to leave the keep." Maedhros shuddered. "We succeeded in fending off its attacks, the stones of Himring are not so easily damaged. But to think that my brother's troops were burnt alive when he tried to hold his stances…"

"Maglor faced the dragon?" Fingon whispered.

"Do you think anything but the Great Worm could have made him leave the Gap? He knew he would leave the passage to the hinterland open if he fled. But he had no choice."

Fingon thought that Maedhros sounded unconvinced, "do you think so? Was there nothing he could have done?"

His cousin's eyes were shining with a feverish glow. "What are you insinuating? You did not manage to stop the filthy Worm either, did you? I heard he attacked your troops in the mountains too."

"Hush, I did not mean to insult you. "

Maedhros' anger was quickly deflated and with a tired sigh, his cousin withdrew from his touch. "I know you did not mean to. But however disconcerting it is, you might have spoken the truth, Fingon. There was something else he could have done, and I suspect Maglor was very close to choosing that other path." His cousin looked up again. "He could have stayed there. He could have decided to stay and die there."

Fingon let go of his breath. He had not even realised he had been holding it. He bit his tongue, thinking of something to say, but found nothing.

"Aegnor and Angrod were surprised by the attack and perished before they could flee. I have the impression my brother wishes things had gone the same way for him. He feels humiliated. He is ashamed because he thought he let us, his brothers, down – as if he was the only one responsible for this defeat. And while I keep trying, I cannot convince him that he did all he could. That there was nothing else that any of us could have done. That what he did was enough to buy us time to regroup, to flee. That he was enough."

Fingon stared at his hands. The eerie echo of his own doubts still resounded in his head.

"So Fingon, please, let me convince you instead. There was nothing you could have done that would have changed your father's mind. Nothing at all. In the end we all make our own choices. Your father did, Maglor did, my father did and I most certainly made my own mistakes. While others might give us advice, no one is responsible for our deeds but ourselves."

"Perhaps. But isn't that a too heavy burden to shoulder? Circumstances affect us, others convince us and give us advice that changes our perspective. Sometimes we heed their advice, sometimes we go straight against it, but it does influence us. I for one am certain Maglor returned because of you. There is no one whom he trusts as much as you."

"Sometimes I think he only returns to me because he still feels guilty, because…"

"Don't start, Maedhros." Fingon interrupted. "We've been there before. If you doubt the sincerity of his actions, think back on how things were in Valinor. He trusted you then, and you trusted him. We might have all changed, but some things have not." He took a deep breath, "so I will try to trust you, and believe you when you tell me I did all I could." A pause fell before he continued so quietly that he could barely be heard. "I did all I could, and I'll have to come to terms with the idea that it still was not enough to stop him."


	4. 4- On revenge

Fingon and Maedhros spent the rest of the night together, hardly speaking at all. They were content to watch the leaping flames of the fire, until Maedhros became so tired that he nearly fell asleep in the comfortable chair. Fingon gently sent him back to his room. His cousin needed his rest.

He himself saw the sun rise again from the windows of his study. He stared at the mountain ridge before him until the first golden rays fell on its snowy tops. Only then did he return to his own private quarters. He ignored the royal guards that followed him there. They would keep their comments to themselves. It was generally known that the new High King did not sleep much.

Servants hastily moved out of the way when he passed. Whether they did so out of respect or fear, or simply because he was their King now, he did not know. What he did know was that he did not hear their jesting and laughing anymore. He could no longer go to the kitchen and lean against the wall, listening to their conversations. Now, they fell silent when he entered.

When he reached his bedchamber, the doors swung open before he could issue the command and for once he was grateful that he did not have to speak.

His armour bearer jumped up as he entered. He had clearly been dozing, and Fingon felt a pang of remorse when he saw the man's sleepy face. He had forgotten about him. He should have remembered that Thilivern would assume that he had to remain available unless explicitly sent away. All that had once served his father acted the same. His mind revolted at the idea that they assumed that he would want the same obedience, even if he had told them explicitly before that he was a different kind of master, that he did not need so many servants, that he would call them if he needed them. But reality remained that he was responsible for them, and to his shame, tonight he had forgotten about that responsibility.

"Go, Thilivern. I will not need your services anymore, go home and rest."

"But Sire, who will serve you then today?"

Fingon shook his head. "I will manage. I will not go out before noon, and if I do, there are others who could help."

"Is it because you wish to rest sire? Shall I perhaps stay outside? I promise I will not let anyone disturb you."

"Hush, Thilivern. Do not fret about me. I will not rest. Go home, that's an order." Fingon had found that issuing plain commands was the only way to cut short the eternal discussions with his servants. They all claimed that they wanted to help him and take care of him, but he found that they constrained his movements and trapped him inside his keep each time again.

"Yes sire."

The man bowed his head and Fingon thought that perhaps he might have been a bit harsh. Thilivern did mean well.

"Go to your family." He added in a softer tone. "Your wife must be worried if you spent the night here waiting for me."

"'Tis nothing, lord. Your lord father…"

Fingon clenched his teeth, and Thilivern must have noticed.

"I, I'm sorry lord. I'll go now." The man almost fled out of the room and Fingon sighed, moving his hand over his eyes. He must be getting quite a reputation. He was certain that the servants were telling each other not to mention Fingolfin in his presence.

With a grimace he went to his bedchamber and sat himself down to unlace his boots. He might not want to sleep, but he would change his clothing to get ready for this new day.

A soft knock on the door interrupted him while he was donning a new shirt. "Thilivern, I told you, go home!"

"I saw him leave the palace some time ago. Can I come in?" Even when he spoke softly, Maglor's voice was powerful.

"Of course." He tried to not let his weariness sound through, but did not doubt he failed miserably.

A soft click of the door told him his cousin had entered and with a barely suppressed sigh, he made his way to his living room.

Maglor looked up when he came in, and he thought that his cousin had foregone sleep for more nights than he had, by the sight of him. "Good morning. What business is so urgent that it cannot wait until our audience later today?"

Maglor's stormy grey eyes clouded, and for a moment Fingon expected a sharp reply of his cousin. But then he seemed to regain his composure. "There is something I have wanted to tell you before we meet there, out in the open."

"Is it about Ereinion?"

"No."

Fingon gestured to the chairs, "Do you want to take a seat?"

"No."

He looked a little closer at his cousin. His expression was unfathomable and he wondered what was going on. "As you wish. Speak then, and let us not tarry."

"It need to talk to you about my brothers." Maglor spoke in measured tones. If Fingon had not known him better, he would have thought that the second son of Feanor was holding back a fury so great that he could barely restrain himself. But Maglor never was like that, not even before they had left. He always had been – and still was - the most sensible of the seven, the one that had restrained his rash brothers when they threatened to lose their patience. The only one who could keep Maedhros in check on the rare occasions when he blew up.

"Continue."

"Yesterday, you told me you assumed that I had my reasons to pledge our allegiance before we even entered your castle. You were correct. My brothers are my reasons. They still heed Maedhros' orders for now, but I tell you Fingon, they will not do so for much longer."

Fingon pensively looked at his cousin. "You mean Curufin and Celegorm? They have fled to Nargothrond I heard?"

"I mean Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin and Amrod. All of them. They long for war, they want to fight back." Maglor lightly rested his hands on the back of one of the chairs, and traced a finger over the fine carvings before he continued. "But to go for a wild action against the enemy would be utterly foolish, as you all too well know."

Fingon narrowed his eyes. He would not tolerate anyone calling his father a fool. "Watch it, Maglor."

"It is the truth, cousin, whether you like it or not. I will not be able to restrain my brothers for much longer. Curufin and Celegorm are already out of my reach. Who knows what havoc they shall wreck in Finrod's hidden kingdom. Amrod will not take the initiative, but he will follow whenever Caranthir decides that he wants revenge for his people. He suffered the most, Fingon and he will want his revenge at some point." He paused. "And if he goes, I will not stop him. Not this time. You have no idea what it was like. We have left our homes before, we have fought and lost, but this was different. Not that you would understand."

Fingon was about to reply that he too had suffered, that they too had lost some of his soldiers, but then he remembered what Maedhros had told him the evening before and he bit his tongue. Perhaps Maglor was right. Perhaps he did not understand.

"Why do you tell me this? What can I do about your brothers? They are unlikely to listen to me. Why doesn't Maedhros do anything about them?" Fingon watched his cousin. At first sight the bard had kept his composure, but there was a seething anger bubbling under the surface. Maedhros had been right, he had never known Maglor to be this furious.

"Maedhros…." Maglor shook his head. "He cannot keep them in check. They are looking for any opportunity to fight."

"And what makes you believe that I will provide them with such an opportunity?"

"I told you, we want revenge, Fingon. As do you."

Fingon stared at his cousin. "How will revenge solve anything? How will it make me feel better? How will it help my people, Maglor? To go on an expedition that we cannot win, to get even more men killed? You are wrong, very wrong to think that revenge is the first thing on my mind."

"How can you say that? You have lost too, you have seen the dragon."

Fingon shivered. Maglor's voice could be powerful indeed, but he would not falter. "It is not right, cousin."

"Not right?" Maglor spat out, all self-control now utterly gone, "Not right? How do you think I felt when he burnt my people before my own eyes?" He jerked the sleeve of his tunic up, revealing his arm covered in wrinkled, red burn marks. "How do you think this feels, _cousin._ " He said with contempt, "And I tell you, the pain of these is nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the horror we faced when the dragon chased us through the plains. I saw him coming. I was miles away in the next camp, but I saw its flames from afar. We do not know exactly what happened, no one made it out alive, but we quickly realised what kind of threat we were facing. I ordered them to flee. I put the children with my best riders, on the fastest horses, but the dragon was there before we could do anything. He went back and forth through the gap, scorching everything in the blink of an eye. As the beast released its fire, it left a trail of death." Maglor took a deep shuddering breath before he continued in a low voice. "Do you know what it smells like, when people burn? For I do. We tried to hit the beast, we tried to shoot it, but to no avail. In the end I took those who were willing of my personal guard and we tried to lure it to us. it was our last hope on giving our people a chance to flee." His voice dropped even further and Fingon could barely hear him now, but he dared not interrupt. "I brought it to Himring, to my brother, despite the risk. I knew he had the weaponry that we lacked. He was protected by those thick walls of his. Me and my captains had the fastest horses, and at first when we saw the beast come behind us we thought we had succeeded. Until we reached Himring. The dragon disappeared, and we looked back. it was then that we realised that our own people were no longer there. We were all that had survived." He lifted his head, staring defiantly into Fingon's eyes. "My brothers are not the only ones who desire to take action. I owe it to my people, I owe it to my companions. I would have come here to ask the same thing of your father, were he still king. I demand retaliation, I want revenge. I have called those people mine for four hundred years, but as we were the king's sworn men, they were Ñolofinwë's too and now they are yours. So Findekáno, if you do not want to heed my request as a cousin and a friend, I ask you, will you respect your obligations towards those that are in your service?"

For one long moment Fingon hesitated what to do, but then he wordlessly stepped forward and attempted to embrace his cousin. Maglor turned away though and walked to the nearby table, pretending to study a flower that had been put in a vase.

Fingon watched him go, and startled as a knock on the door sounded like a thunderclap in their heavy silence. "Yes?"

"Sire, the lord Maedhros is here to see you." His guard sounded nervous, and Fingon managed a small smile at the idea of how intimidating Maedhros could be.

"Let him in, Erestor."


	5. 5- Plan

Maglor straightened his back when Maedhros stormed into the room and Fingon thought that the bard had truly become a master of his emotions. Nothing was visible anymore of his earlier outburst, a soft smile hid all the turmoil that had been so apparent before.

Maedhros crossed the room with a few long paces as soon as he spotted Maglor. He put his good hand on his brother's shoulder. "I was worried about you. Where have you been?" Fingon did not fail to notice that this time the bard did not withdraw from the touch, even if he averted his eyes.

"Nowhere important."

"Maglor, you've been away all night. When I did not find you in your room when I went to rest, I did not make much of it, but I woke during the night, and you were still not there."

"Nightmares again?" Maglor said and for one moment Fingon saw an expression of raw grief cross his otherwise so unmoved face, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

Maedhros looked even sadder and rested his hand on his brother's cheek. "This is not about me."

"What made you come here?" Apparently even Maedhros' touch had its limits because Maglor pushed away his arm.

"I went to the stables, but they said they hadn't seen you there, so I went back to your room to wait for you. When you didn't show up, I came to ask for Fingon's help."

"You shouldn't have worried, Maedhros. You know I cannot leave." The harshness was back in the bard's voice and in that instance, Fingon realised that for once Maglor had openly admitted the truth. He could never leave. Not because anyone would stop him, but because he had sworn long ago to do whatever it took to make amends for what Maglor still believed to be his utter betrayal of his brother. As far as Fingon knew, the Feanorians had never spoken on why Maglor had decided not to go after Maedhros, but the matter had weighed heavily on both brothers for all years since.

He hesitated to interrupt, but stepped forward regardless. "Both of you, sit down. Maglor has brought some issues to my attention. There are things we need to discuss and we might as well start here and now. I had thought to speak to you in one of the official audiences, but perhaps it is indeed better to keep these matters private."

Fingon noticed how Maedhros threw a surprised glance to his brother. So he did not know. "What was it that you had to ask to Fingon this early in the morning? Something about the little one?"

Fingon half-expected the bard to avoid answering Maedhros, but he was proven wrong, for Maglor squared his shoulders, and let his voice ring as he spoke again. "No, Ereinion was no part of our conversation. I, Makalaurë Feanorion, requested Findekáno Ñoldóran to heed his duties as our liege lord. There is an enemy out there, who has killed your people, our people, and I demand revenge. But what is more, I believe we have to attack now, or we will not get a second chance. We already wasted one opportunity after Aglareb, I do not intend to let that happen a second time."

"Maglor, you are a fool." Maedhros snapped. "How can you ask such a thing? At this time? Have you not listened to the messengers? Have you not heard how utterly defeated we are?"

There was a fire blazing in Maglor's eyes as he turned towards his brother. "I will not wait and hide like a coward while the enemy tramples my plains. For months you have convinced me to stay in the castle, to rest and to heal. Well, brother, I am healed now, and I am ready to fight back."

"Do you not think I want the same?" Maedhros replied, "Do you not believe me when I say that I want revenge with every fibre of my being? Did it never occur to you that I too desire retaliation for all he did to me, to us? If so, you know me less well than I thought, _brother_. The flames of hatred burn as high in my heart as in yours, rest assured of that." He paused a moment. "But however much I want revenge, we are not ready- and perhaps we never will be. I am still your lord before Fingon, and I tell you: we will _not_ fight. We will bide our time and make our plans and you will listen to me, as all the others did, and keep your peace. We will not fight, Maglor. We will not. Not now."

Fingon saw Maglor's face turn to stone while Maedhros spoke. With every word, he seemed to withdraw further and further, until nothing remained but a tightly controlled mask. When Maedhros finished, the bard did not even answer his brother, but turned to Fingon instead, speaking in the calmest of voices. "I apologise, sire, for my rash words. I will keep better control of my tongue in the future. Now will you excuse me, Ereinion wanted to show me his horse, and I agreed to meet him at the stables after the third hour."

Maglor spun around and took a few long strides to the door, but Fingon grasped his arm to stop him. "Do not leave, not like this. Let us talk these matters further. While we are in these rooms, I am still your cousin rather than your king and I want to know why your advice is to attack, even if I agree with Maedhros that we are not strong enough yet."

Maglor shook himself loose. "As my brother made clear, I have overstepped my boundaries. It is not my place to speak to you on these matters."

"Maglor." Maedhros sharply interrupted as his brother put his hand on the doorknob. For one instant the bard hesitated, but then he took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Maedhros too started to move, but Fingon placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back, and whispered, "Let him go, Nelyo. Let him go."

Maedhros' shoulders sagged as they watched Maglor disappear. "He is right, you know."

"Perhaps," Fingon pensively stared at the now closed door.

"We have forfeited our chance after Dagor Aglareb. We should have pushed on at that time. With every passing year, the enemy grows stronger, with every sunset his armies become larger. We have been lulled to sleep these last few years."

"But you were right too, Maedhros. We don't have enough troops now, not with all the losses we have suffered, with Turgon hiding the Valar know where, with our border stations lost."

"I agree… Yet, they say to attack is the best defence." Maedhros lifted his chin and in that instance Fingon could not help thinking that despite their differences, there was no mistaking Maglor and Maedhros for anything but the brothers that they were. "But you will not tell him I said that. It is too early, Fingon. For our people but also for him. Despite his words, he is not healed at all."

"But neither are you." Fingon pensively looked at his cousin. "I did not know the nightmares still plagued you so. Perhaps we are all wounded in one way or another, and perhaps it _is_ time to at least start making plans again."

Maedhros shrugged. "We can only win if we stand united. You know that as well as I do. We need more troops. It doesn't take a military expert to see how heavily outnumbered we are…"

"Yet we have to keep hoping somehow. We have to keep believing that we can win this war. Perhaps there are others that can help, perhaps we should send a plea to the Valar…"

"No!" Fingon had half expected the reaction, but was still startled by the intensity of Maedhros' voice. "No, not the Valar. Never the Valar. But there are others. Perhaps we do need Caranthir after all. He has spoken to us about a tribe of men that he had encountered in Thargelion…"

"That, my friend, is an interesting idea. The rare messages that I have received from Finrod all spoke about men too. I must admit I have not encountered them often though."

"They are not without merit." Maedhros stared unseeingly in the distance, "But it is too early. We need to recover. Maglor needs to recover. We will need him."

"Indeed, we will." Fingon pinched his nose. "Will you excuse me now? I want to go and check on Ereinion. I would like to see him before my audiences start. Who knows at what time I'll get back to my rooms tonight..."

Maedhros winced, "I'm sorry to have kept you from him. Go, Fingon, and send Maglor to me if you see him there."


	6. 6- Sorrow

Fingon walked on the parapets of Himlad and tried to regain his calm. He was still troubled by Maglor's words.

 _We want revenge, Fingon. As do you._

There were things he did not like to admit – not even to himself. He had to face the truth though. He did want revenge. He did want to get back to the one that had caused this all. The one that had taken so many that he had loved. His father, his brother, his cousins, his uncle, countless friends. The one that would forever mean a threat to his son if he could not defeat him first.

Ereinion. Nothing could happen to Ereinion. He would do all it took to keep him safe.

He walked from guard post to guard post, greeted his men and joked with the patrol leaders, outwardly as optimistic as ever. They could not see how troubled he was, how his mind swirled from hope to despair and back.

He watched the mountains and focussed on his breathing while his feet followed the known beat along the ramparts. Slowly but surely his mind calmed. He had to remember that here was still hope. There had to be, even if it was a fool's hope, even if it was a tiny flame in an ocean of darkness. There was still hope that once they would defeat the enemy. And he would do well to remember that there were others who still hoped too.

He descended to the stable grounds and spotted Ereinion in the horse pen. Maglor was leaning against the palisade, shouting instructions at the boy. He had to smile as he noticed how Ereinion abruptly adjusted his position on the pony after a particularly sharp-sounding remark.

He kept to the side for a while, and was content just to watch his son practice. Maglor was a more than competent teacher.

It was surprising really. In Valinor Celegorm always had been the better rider, but here things had changed. Maglor had spent nearly all of the last four hundred years on the back of a horse. His men said that he could calm a nervous mare with a few words, that he could reign in a wild stallion with a single command. They said he could move mountains with his voice. And Fingon knew they were not far from the truth, even if many had doubted when Maglor was chosen as the defender of the gap. Some of his father's counsellors had even loudly objected. They had thought the second son was not strong enough, not skilled enough.

What an idea. They had been fooled by the bard's calm behaviour and love for the fine arts.

There was nothing soft about Makalaurë. The fire that burnt in all Feanorians also seared in his soul. He would not have been able to rule his brothers and their men for six harsh years if he had not had a spine of steel. And once he had been assigned, he had proven as much. He had wandered from one camp to the other, reigning the sparse settlements in his vast lands with a strong hand. Maedhros had often joked in those days, that if he wanted to send a message to Maglor, he just had to release it in the wind. His brother was bound to follow its fickle course anyway. He had become a restless nomad who would not call any place his home.

And now that wandering soul had been confined to the castle of Himring for months. Fingon could only guess how the bard had suffered within those walls.

Inevitably his thoughts dwelled back to the conversations of the morning. Even Maedhros had agreed with what his brother had said. War would rekindle and things would become even more perilous than they already were. Perhaps Maedhros was right, perhaps they should start preparing for another war and this time, they could not fight alone.

As the sun climbed, he wished he could stay forever in that spot, watching Ereinion practice. Not so long ago, it would have been him training the boy whenever he returned from his patrols. That or he would have been out in the mountains, inspecting the borders, motivating the troops. Now a long dreary meeting awaited him and while he knew he had to go, he found it harder every day to act the part of a king.

It wasn't only Maglor who missed the freedom he had once enjoyed.

It was nearly the fourth hour, and that meant that his audiences would start soon. He detached himself from the wall against which he had been leaning, and slowly moved to the pen. Once he had reached Maglor, he smiled as Ereinion waved at him. "Focus, penneth! Keep your balance."

"He is doing well. I rarely have to tell him anything more than once. You must be very proud of him." Maglor said, never averting his eyes from Ereinion.

Fingon's smile disappeared. "I am. I will miss him."

"So you have decided then?"

Fingon sighed. "Was there ever a true choice? Even if I do not want to act now, you were right to say that war is ahead of us. If I can spare him that pain for a little longer, I will."

Maglor briskly nodded. "I understand. "

"Yes, I suppose you do." He hesitated for a moment "Will it ever diminish?"

"What?"

"The pain, the empty feeling inside, the grief for my father."

Maglor turned towards him, his dark grey eyes clouded with emotions. "I do not know."

"It will become worse when I let Ereinion go."

"It does not have to be like that. When he is alive and well and probably happy…" Maglor stared at the mountains in the distance. "I just sometimes wonder if he still remembers me."

Fingon hesitated, but decided to offer the only comfort he could. "I am sure he does."

"Who does what, Atar?" Ereinion slid off his pony and came towards him. Fingon laughed at the sight of the sweated boy. He embraced his son and wiped a lock of unruly black hair out of the little one's face.

"'t is nothing Penneth. Uncle Maglor and I were discussing some politics. I see you have been practising well! If you only would be as eager to study your maps and scrolls as you are here on the training grounds."

Maglor smiled too. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I remember how you were as a child, Fingon, and I cannot say _you_ had a liking for studying when you were his age."

"Is that true Atar?" Big grey eyes looked up at him and Fingon hugged his son even closer.

"It is true. I liked to be outside."

"So do I! I just wished I would be allowed out of the castle. Do you think we could go for a ride soon? I've worked hard, Atto, I really did. I can ride the pony now." He said, a serious expression on his little face.

"I know you have, Ereinion." Fingon whispered. "But it is too dangerous. I promise, one day, you will be able to go out whenever you want. I will take care of that."

The wide smile that appeared on the boy's face made him cringe. He would keep his promise, no matter the cost.

It was as if Maglor had felt the tension rise, for his cousin had moved away and was now gently caressing the pony, while softly humming.

Fingon looked up, "Maglor, Maedhros asked me to send you to him, should I find you. I think he would like to speak to you."

"I am certain he does." The bard did not avert his eyes from the horse that pressed its muzzle to the palm of his hand. "That does not mean I want to speak to him. I have said what I had to say, no more, no less. If you see him, you can say that I will be out all day. I was talking to that young guard of yours – I believe Erestor was his name – and apparently there are some horses out there that have been scared so much by the dragon that they have become wild and unruly. I will see what I can do."

"Be careful when you go out."

Maglor turned around, his eyes flashing. "What do you take me for? An elfling?"

Fingon felt how Ereinion clung even tighter to his waist as Maglor raised his voice. He sighed "Peace, cousin. You scare the boy. I did not take you for anything. I am just worried about you, as I am about anyone who leaves these walls."

"Go to your audiences, Fingon. They are waiting for you." With a graceful movement Maglor jumped over the low stockade and walked towards the stables where the Feanorian horses had been housed. Fingon knew there was little he could do when his cousin was in this kind of mood. "Come, penneth." He whispered, "Time for you to go back to your tutor. Let's get you back inside." He gently guided his son to the door, but did not miss Ereinion's longing look as Maglor effortlessly slid on the back of his tall black stallion and galloped past them to the gate.

That evening, Fingon ate alone with Ereinion. When they had finished, he laid down his cutlery and looked at the boy for a while.

Ereinion, clearly uncomfortable under his father's gaze, started fidgeting with the table cloth. "Can I go back to my room?"

"Just one moment, penneth. There is something I would like to discuss with you."

"You want to send me away, is it not?" The little one whispered, staring at the table.

Fingon felt a jolt of surprise. "No, Yes, I, I don't know what to say." He took a deep breath. "No, I don't want to send you away, but yes, I might have to." At the boy's sad expression, he stood up and walked to the other side of the table, kneeling next to his son and taking his small hands between his own calloused palms. "This is no life, Ereinion. You should be free to play whenever, wherever you want. I want you to be happy." And I want you to be safe when I go to war again, he added in his mind, but that was something he would not talk. Ereinion was already scared enough.

"I understand, atar." The boy said, with such incredible sadness that Fingon almost changed his decision there and then.

"You might understand even better when you are older, penneth. It is not that I will not come to visit you. And we still have time, I'm not sending you away tomorrow. Perhaps when spring comes."

He stood up and picked Ereinion up, placing him on his lap. The boy was almost too big to be cuddled like that, but now he curled up and rested his little head against his father's shoulder. Fingon breathed his scent -horses and milk and autumn leaves- and tried to engrave it into his mind. As of now, every moment would be precious. "Would you like to go to the sea?"

"Can't I go with uncle Maedhros and uncle Maglor? I like them, and uncle Maglor always teaches me new tricks."

"No, penneth. But you know Cirdan too, don't you? Would you not like to go to him?"

Ereinion had firmly closed his eyes and did not answer. Fingon held him tight and cradled him back and forth. The boy had already lost too much. He wondered what kind of man he would become, this child of his that had grown up losing all his loved ones. One by one they had disappeared. First his mother, then his grandfather, and now he would lose his father too. Perhaps he would become stronger than all before him, weathered and tested before he would see his first battle. Perhaps he would whither from grief. Fingon pushed away the thoughts. Ereinion would become happy. Cirdan would see to that. And he would not be lost to the boy. He did not have to speculate. He would be there to see what kind of man his son became. He would survive.

Long they sat there, and after a while he managed to coax Ereinion into speaking again. About the scrolls he had studied, the pony he had ridden, the meal he had eaten at noontime. He did not find the courage to bring up the journey to Cirdan again.

By the time that it was time to sleep, Ereinion had calmed down again and was happily chatting. It took him a while to get him into his bed, but the boy fell asleep almost immediately when he touched his sheets. Fingon quietly left and closed the door to his bedroom, careful to leave it slightly open to let the light in. He paused a moment to gaze at the figure beneath the covers and bit his lip.

He turned away and walked back to his own apartments, followed by his guards. As soon as he arrived there, he gave a few clear orders to make sure that he would not be disturbed anymore that evening.

The heavy wooden doors closed behind him and he made his way to his bedroom, removing his formal garments on the way. As soon as he entered the only place where he could be alone, he let himself fall on his bed. He bit his hand to mute his sobs. They could not hear him cry. Not the king. Not the Ñoldóran.


	7. 7- to move on

Fingon woke to the sound of his chamberlain shifting things in the room next to him. He moved his hand to his eyes and at the flicker of gold and blue realised he was still wearing his tunic. He did not remember when he had fallen asleep, but he had been exhausted. He slowly pushed himself up and leant his head in his hands. The sun had already risen. He was much later than usual.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Sire, can I come in? Is all well?"

"Yes, come." Relieved he noticed that at least his voice sounded normal. He might not be able to hide his red-rimmed eyes, but he would not give them any further reason to gossip. Let them blame his many sleepless nights.

When his servant entered, he saw the worried expression on the man's face. "What is it? Is anything amiss?"

"No, not really, sire." The chamberlain hesitated, "it is just that the guards told me that the lord Maedhros was here to see you yesterday evening and it is not like Your Majesty to refuse him entrance."

"I did not wish to be disturbed." He had indeed ignored his cousin's pleas. He had not been able to stop his tears for long enough to answer him. All he had wanted was to be alone. No one could see his grief.

He started to change tunics while his servant folded some clothes. After a while Fingon noticed how he lingered, almost as if he had something more to say.

"What else is the matter? You know you can speak your mind."

"It is just that the guards told me that Lord Maedhros has returned a few times during the night. Apparently he only gave up just before sunrise."

"He did what?" Fingon whispered, shocked. Why had Maedhros not forced his way in, if he had needed him so? It was not as if he had not done so before. Of course that had been a lifetime ago, before he had become king. He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Send someone to him. Tell him I'm available now."

The chamberlain straightened the covers of the bed. "I will sire, as soon as I am done here."

Fingon paced his living room, and nearly jumped a foot in the air when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

However it was not the one he had been waiting for.

"Father! Father! Have you seen? There is snow outside, have you seen? Can I go and play before my lessons? Please? Pleasepleaseplease?"

The boy stormed towards him and hugged his waist, forcing him to step back a few paces from the impact. A smile curled his lips. "Why, you are up early, Ereinion! But yes, you can. As long as you dress warmly. We don't want that little curious nose of yours to freeze off." He grasped his son's nose between his two fingers and laughed out loud at Ereinion's subsequent mirth. "Go, penneth, and be back for breakfast before the second hour!"

"Thank you Atar!" The little one darted out the room again, and almost collapsed against another figure that chose that moment to open the door.

Maedhros narrowly escaped the crash. He smiled as he entered, shaking his head while Ereinion ducked underneath his arm. "Good morning to you too, Ereinion!"

" 'morning uncle!" Fingon could just hear his son scream through the empty hallway and he cringed. If all inhabitants of the palace had not been up yet, surely they would be wide awake now.

Maedhros laughed out loud, "Fingon, I think you're being paid back for all those times you did exactly the same thing to your own parents. He is so much like you when you were little."

"Your brother told me the same yesterday." Fingon sourly replied. "I do not think I was _that_ loud though."

"True, you were infinitely worse." Maedhros replied with a twinkle in his eyes. "You asked to see me?"

Fingon gestured to the armchairs. "I was told that you were looking for me yesterday, cousin." He sobered and played with the signet ring that he wore around his finger. "I'm sorry I did not receive you. I… I needed some time alone."

Maedhros reached out and put his hand over his own fingers, effectively stopping him from fidgeting. "I doubt if being alone was the solution to whatever problem you are having, cousin. You look horrible. But I did not intent to force my company upon you. I wouldn't have returned during the night if I had not been in quite a panic myself."

"What happened?" Fingon looked up.

Maedhros sighed and leant back. "Maglor did not return yesterday."

Fingon wanted to say something, but was stopped by his cousin's raised hand.

"He is back now. Do not fret. Otherwise I would not sit here. It just took him longer than I had anticipated."

Fingon shook his head. "Was he still angry?"

Maedhros made a dismissive gesture, "We differed in our opinions and we had to talk. There were too many things left unspoken. You know how Maglor is."

"So he most definitely was still angry." Fingon dryly answered. "Sometimes I do indeed wonder, how one so great in voicing other people's emotions, fails time after time again to express his own feelings until it is too late."

"He just doesn't want to burden me – or anyone else for that matter." Maedhros stared out of the window, and Fingon followed his regard. Snowflakes whirled before the thick glass. Up and down, dancing to a tune only they could hear.

"Maglor had already said that the snow would be coming." Maedhros whispered after a while. They both knew what that meant.

Fingon rose and went to stand near the cold glass, his hands on his back. He dug his nails into his palms. "When do you leave?"

Maedhros joined him by the window. "I wish I could stay."

"When, Maedhros?"

"Latest tomorrow. We have a long journey ahead of us and Maglor does not want to tarry. He insists on making our stages short. We cannot tire the men, we need them."

Fingon nearly smiled. Leave it to Maglor to find a way to keep Maedhros from overexerting himself. "I understand."

"Spring will come again, my friend, do not doubt that. The light will always return. Auta i lómë, aure entuluva…."

"But when that light returns, Ereinion will leave." Fingon whispered. "There is nothing to look forward to this time, Maedhros." He looked into his cousin's stormy grey eyes.

"Aure entuluva. Light will come again." Maedhros said again, as if he was trying to convince himself too. "We've been through so much already Fingon, we've fought so hard. We just cannot give up now. You are not alone. There are so many people out there who look to you for guidance. You cannot give up. You owe it to your people, to our people. We have to keep their hopes up."

Fingon straightened his back. "Do not think that I do not know that. I will play my part. I will not forget the crown on my head."

"I do not doubt that at all." Maedhros softly said, "but _you_ have to keep hope too, my friend. _You_ cannot give up when Ereinion is gone. Especially not then. He needs you to fight on, to stay alive."

Fingon sighed. "I know that too." He paused a moment, "I told you that I did not understand my father, but perhaps I was wrong. I've been thinking on it again last night. Perhaps I understand him better than I have wanted to acknowledge. Sometimes, to fear the blow that you expect to land, to dread the pain that you know will come, to know that destiny threatens to strike, is far worse than just to face the agony headfirst."

"Perhaps."

Fingon blinked a few times. "If I have to move on, I will need something to look forward to. And I will need your help."

"I'm listening."

"Let us make a plan. Ask Maglor how he has managed to get his spies past the enemy's lines before. Help him rebuild his troops." He stared at his cousin, who did not react and added, "I do not care how long it will take us to rebuild our troops. We have time. As soon as Ereinion is safe in the havens, there is nothing that will stop me from visiting you in Himring to discuss this further."

Maedhos sadly smiled. "You know, even though I fiercely disagreed with him, part of me wanted to believe Maglor when he assured me that you would change your mind before we left. I will do as you have asked, and perhaps more. And when the day finally comes that you decide to fight, I will be right there with you, and so will my brothers. You are not the only one who has to keep believing."

The next morning Fingon watched the Feanorian host ride out of his courtyard. The snow was melting in the pale sun, but he knew it was only a temporary thing. Soon all would be covered in a thick white blanket. A feeling of melancholy washed over him as he walked back into the keep. Now he was alone again, and he would be for a long time to come. But he would try to remember Maedhros' words. Somehow they had struck a chord deep inside.

Light would come again, the night would pass someday. He had to keep the faith.


	8. 8- Epilogue

Fingon laid his quill on his desk and softly blew over the wet ink. " _My dear son,_ " He had hoped to never have to write this letter, but now could escape no more.

Fifteen years since he had sent the boy away. Fifteen years since he had watched Cirdan take his child to the havens. He had only visited him once, somewhere near the very beginning. It had taken him a lot of negotiating with his councillors, who had thought it too dangerous for him to travel so far from his lands. They feared the enemy would learn of his absence and would attack while he was away. Nonetheless he had taken the risk and had gone.

When he had arrived, he had found a very upset Ereinion, who screamed and cried at the slightest provocation. Cirdan had assured him that the boy had been doing fine, but apparently when his father had arrived, all his anger and grief had been released. Fingon had not dared stay long, and had parted with a heavy heart. After, he had never found the courage to withstand his advisors again. He had been so afraid that his visit would only trouble his son more. He had thought it better to let him live his new life at the havens without him interfering.

At first Ereinion wrote him almost weekly and every few months Cirdan's messengers brought him the thick packages of paper. He smiled at the memory. He had looked forward to each and every one of those deliveries. He too tried to write often to the child, but after a while he ran out of things to tell. There was too much that he did not want to share. He did not want to burden his little one with the grim reality of Hithlum.

The letters had grown scarcer through the years and though it pained him beyond measure, he now realised that he did not truly know his son anymore. Oh Cirdan dutifully updated him about Ereinion's progress in his studies, and sometimes even sent a portrait, but Fingon knew all too well that that did not replace being there, close to the boy. Despite the artistic skills of the shipwright's painter, he could hardly imagine what Ereinion looked like. The tall, thin youth that appeared on the drawings was a far cry from the child that had loved to read in front of the hearth of his study.

He took a deep breath. At least the boy was healthy and free, and that had always been his goal. He picked up his quill again and watched his fingers tremble.

Soon things would draw to a close. No matter how this ended, it would finally be over.

All he could muster had gathered, there was not a single able man in his service who had not heeded his call. It had been a disappointment that so few of Doriath, Nargothrond and the Falas had come, but after what had happened to Finrod, he had not been surprised. He had to trust that it was enough, for there was nothing more they could have done. Maedhros and his brothers had gathered their own men in the West, and he could only pray that they had managed to achieve a similar strength. Communications had been scarce lately.

If this attack failed, there was no fall back plan. Hithlum was all but empty. If they won, they would survive, if they lost, they would be defeated beyond hope of ever recovering. It was a simple as that.

And he was tired. So tired. After all these years of lonely resistance, he had little energy left. If Maedhros had not been there, he would have long given up. His cousin had quickly become the driving force behind this union, and he had followed.

He clenched his teeth. He would do well to remember that it was his responsibility to guide the troops to victory. He was their King after all, not Maedhros. And he would do all he could, even if it would cost him his life. His life. He had a nagging feeling that it was nearly over. A feeling that had prompted him to write this letter. A letter of goodbye to the son he did not pretend to know anymore.

He put the quill back to the paper and tried to write from his heart. This was not the time for formalities or instructions.

 _My dear boy,_

 _I sent you away, my child, to an island you did not know. I can only hope that you have found something like a home there in Balar. It has been nearly fifteen years since we last met, and I do not even presume that you truly remember me. You were so young._

 _Life has been hard in the meantime, and I am glad you did not have to experience it. There was no place for a child in Hithlum…_

 _At least in the havens Cirdan was there to care for you, and even though I know he is grumpy and stern sometimes, he is one of the most trustworthy people I know. He will love you, my little one, and care for you, now and in the future, when I no longer can. For I feel that this union, this mad attempt of us to defy the enemy, might fail. If any of the men's troops fail to come as promised, we are doomed. If the dark one has learned of our plans, if Maitimo's brothers do not keep true to their word… no, they will be there, we have been cautious and we will be victorious. And then I will see you again my son, and never will you have to read this letter. For when you do, you will know that I have fallen. And if I have, I pray that they will at least find a way to get this one to you, so far away._

 _I wonder now, if I made the right decision sending you away. Perhaps I should have kept you with me, but it is a selfish thought, for it would have been to give me peace, rather than you safety…_

 _Remember who you are my son, who your father and grandfather were, but hold true to yourself above all and listen to your heart, as I almost always did. There is no other advice I can give you, I am not one of the wise. No matter what people say, I am – and always have been - only a simple soldier, whose only goal was to care for the people for whom he was responsible._

 _I love you my little shining star,_

 _Atto_

He took a deep breath and drew two thick lines underneath. There was something else he had to add.

 _Turukano, Maitimo, whoever of you reads this – for I hope it will be one of you that finds me, my brothers in blood and soul. Get this one back to Ereinion, please, I beg you. And whatever has happened that led to this I tell you –do not hate, not each other, not another. Take the burden I left behind and let the little one be spared from it for a while longer. Live, lead and fight on._

 _Findekáno_ _Nolofinwion -_ _Ñoldóran_

He watched the ink smear out where a tear had fallen on the paper, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

There was no time for regrets. They had to march.

Closing the book, he tucked it safely away in the chest that contained his personal belongings.

He stood up and walked to the tent entrance. With an incredible effort, he put on a smile and straightened his back. He was ready.

* * *

 _"_ _Then when Fingon heard afar the great trumpet of Turgon his brother, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted, and he shouted aloud: 'Utulie'n aure! Aiya Eldalie ar Atanatari, utulie'n aure! The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!' And all those who heard his great voice echo in the hills answered crying: 'Auta i lome! The night is passing!'"_

 _"…in the western battle Fingon and Turgon were assailed by a tide of foes thrice greater than all the force that was left to them. Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs … drove a dark wedge between the Elvenhosts, surrounding King Fingon, and thrusting Turgon and Húrin aside towards the Fen of Serech. … Thus fell the High King of the Noldor…"_

* * *

Thank you for reading - hope you enjoyed. Those that have read more of my stories might recognise the letter that featured in Solitude (I shamelessly reapplied :) ) - and some of the references to what happened in Regent.

The Quenya lines of the previous chapter translated:

Auta i lómë - The night is passing (the answer of the host to Fingon's cry)

Aure entuluva - day will come again (Hurin's cry while slaying trolls)


End file.
